John and Margaret: Mrs Watson's Party
by bunnyreader
Summary: Margaret begins her new life in Milton and explores her new relationship with, and feelings for, John. Inspired by BBC adaptation. Rated M just to be sure - much longing and wanting to come! NEW CHAPTER ADDED 07/10/10
1. Chapter 1

Hello! I only saw the BBC adaptation of North and South recently (I know, I know what HAVE I been missing all this time!) and the whole story and characters really captured my imagination. I began to think about how Margaret would move back to Milton and how the relationship between her and John would evolve leading up to their marriage. Especially in the very early days, we all know what its like when you finally get together with someone and all you can think of is them and you suddenly become so very aware of where they are in relation to you?

There are a couple of possible historical/Victorian etiquette violations in this; would a young woman take a small house? Would newly engaged couples not be separated at dinner parties? And probably many more. However, I hope you will forgive me these as plot devices, but any feedback is welcome. Am still poking around with the fifth (and final) chapter of this but here is the first . . .

I own nothing, all characters are from the talented pen of Elizabeth Gaskill, and the imagination of the BBC adaptors.

CHAPTER ONE

Mrs Watson had been impatiently waiting for an excuse to hold a large dinner party. She and Watson had been married for almost a year and still did not feel truly recognised as a society hostess. The occasion of Watson's birthday, Fanny had decided, would be the perfect event. This was to be it, her first large social party, and let no one in this household forget it! The smaller dinners she had held, Fanny considered, could only be thought of as mere rehearsals for this, her statement of intent as a hostess. She patrolled proudly around her bedecked table straightening already perfect flowers and realigning place cards that dared to be a millimetre out of place.

The seating plan had been something she had spent many hours toiling over hoping to achieve that most elusive of things; the perfect arrangement of persons and personalities. Then a mere two weeks before, one of her own closest friends had thought better of coming leaving an aching gap in Fanny's impeccable balance. Well, friend no more! Yes London was exciting but the season was coming to an end, what possible reason could she have not to come? Thankfully, Margaret Hale had thought better of _her_ London life and returned to Milton, so if you really thought about it, Fanny mused, that infernal friend had probably saved a good deal more trouble; one female out of seating plan, one female in. No ugly uneven number or unbalance of the sexes.

'I just hope,' Fanny said to the empty room, adjusting a candle, 'that Miss Hale recognises how lucky she is that I was able to accommodate her, John too for that matter.' she addressed the name card 'because _you _would have been even more moody if she had been unable to come than if she had never come back in the first place.' Fanny stood back, sweeping her eyes over the room one last time, nodded and hurried upstairs to chivvy Watson into his suit.

Margaret Hale was, currently, not perhaps as thankful for her invite as Fanny would have liked. She had spent the day moving from the Milton Hotel to the house she had rented for the weeks leading up to her marriage. In a quiet street in the Crampton district, not far from where she had lived with her parents, she had found a perfect little home. The small house had a kitchen and snug parlour in the basement, a light and airy drawing room and small but elegant dining room on the ground floor both with large windows at either ends, and a two cosy bedrooms upstairs. All came furnished plainly but adequately.

'Little it most definitely is' John had teased, when Margaret had seen it with him a few days before. He purposefully paced across the parlour's shortest wall to illustrate his point.

'I'm not going to be hosting any large social gatherings!' Margaret had laughed. 'No, this will do for myself and Dixon perfectly, its much better than living at the hotel.'

Dixon had followed Margaret back to Milton, resolutely determined to ensure Margaret's smooth transition to her new life.

'But, you have always disliked Milton,' Margaret had said, delighted and surprised by Dixon's decision. 'And you had such plans; to move back to Hampshire? With your sister?'

'My sister and Hampshire will still be there in a month, Miss Margaret,' Dixon insisted. Then speaking quietly, ' Your mother was so very dear to me Miss, I treasure her memory and I feel it only right that I should stay with you, her only daughter, and see everything settled. Miss Margaret, if you will have me I shall stay until you are married and all is straight.'

'Dixon!' Margaret was deeply touched by her kindness. 'Thank you! But all shall be as it was before. I shall continue to help you with ironing and starching and cleaning. After all, this is meant to be the start of your retirement, not the beginning of a new house keeping position!'

'Miss Margaret, in a place as compact as this! I shall have all chores done in half a day!'

So it was that Margaret took ownership of her temporary new home on the same day as Fanny's dinner party. She and Dixon spent the afternoon removing dust covers, shifting the furniture around and unpacking the few trunks that held the majority of their belongings. Margaret was to travel to London the next day to pack up her room in Aunt Shaw's house and crate up her father's books. By the end of the week Margaret would fully belong back in Milton. It would be her home again and it felt so comforting, so right.

Margaret smiled at the thought of it, pushing the pearl pins in to her hair. She was dressed in a light dusky coral coloured silk dress, full skirted and plain bodiced with short narrow sleeves that sat low on her shoulders. She reached for the drop earrings on the dressing table

There was a light tap on the open door and Dixon stepped into the bedroom 'Mr Thornton is waiting downstairs for you Miss.' Margaret turned towards her.

'Thank you, Dixon.'

'There now,' Dixon smiled. 'You do look lovely Miss. Such a shame we couldn't get your new green silk ready in time.'

'I would rather be moved in and unpacked than have spent all afternoon ironing petticoats and washing lace!' Margaret smiled. Whilst in London, Edith had persuaded Margaret to buy some new dresses. The green silk was of the very latest fashion and Dixon had wanted so badly for Margaret to wear it, to show this Milton 'society' what proper ladies wore. But its intricate delicacy had not survived the move and there had been no time to devote to fixing its deep creases. 'Maybe next time Dixon,' Margaret said, tilting her head to fasten her earrings.

Dixon nodded and turned back to the stairs, she was warming Margaret's stole by the fire in the kitchen. The infernal climate up here was something she would not miss when happily settled in Hampshire.

John, waiting for Margaret in the drawing room heard Dixon descending the stairs. Then turned, hearing another lighter step and approached the bottom of the stairs.

The rush, the flurry, the second choice dress, it was all lost to Margaret's mind as John smiled gently up at her.

John stood watching as Margaret came towards him, reaching out his hand to assist her with the last few steps. Her beauty astonished him, Margaret in her everyday blouses and skirts always sent a tremor through his heart, so graceful, poised and beautiful. Margaret in this elegant gown, stretching out to accept his offered hand, seemed to be almost ethereal, her skin softly glowing, her eyes shining. John was captivated.

'John', she stood smiling in welcome in front of him. He raised the hand he held to his lips and kissed it. Dixon silently watching from the top of the stairs leading down to the kitchen could not help but sigh to herself. To see the two of them together, so in love, so happy thrilled her to her soul. Miss Margaret had known enough sorrow to last her lifetime and, although Dixon still doubted Mr Thornton's true standing as a proper gentlemen, his impeccable behaviour and beautiful manners endeared him to her. She turned away and continued down to the kitchen.

'You are so beautiful.' To John it seemed so inadequate a word, but Margaret's cheeks flushed slightly and she dropped her eyes from his in happy embarrassment. Then, hearing Dixon's footsteps fade away, lifted her lips to his and kissed him. John gently pulled her closer placing her hand, which he still held, on his shoulder, and his arm around her waist.

Margaret thrilled to the feeling of being so close to John, breathing him in. She had become so aware of his body and physical being in the days since she had moved back to Milton. His height,the length of his stride, how his arms could encircle her waist, the gentle taper of his body from his shoulders to his waist, the distance between the top of his collar and the sharp flow of his jawline, how his skin smelt. Even the contours of his chest, such that she could feel through jacket, waistcoat and shirt.

Dixon was returning holding John's tall hat and with Margaret's stole draped over her arm, and they stepped back from each other.

'Thank you, Dixon,' Margaret said, reaching for her stole. But John reached for it too, taking from Dixon's arm to her slight disapproval, and gently held the soft silk in his hands as Margaret turned so that he could lay it around her bare shoulders. His fingers briefly brushed her skin as he did so, and she paused momentarily under his touch, turning back to him her heart fluttering.

For the briefest of moments, John and Margaret knew only each other, were aware only of the other's physical presence. It was John who turned away, seeming to take a breath before reaching for his hat from Dixon, who's opinion of him was rapidly changing.

'Thank you Dixon,' he said and couldn't help but smile at her stony expression. 'Cheek!' Dixon thought as they turned to go. She had seen the look that had just passed between them, she was going to have to watch Mr Thornton, she decided. And Miss Margaret too for that matter.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Mrs Thornton was waiting in the carriage outside. She had watched as John took the steps up to the front door two at a time, enjoying his happiness. He _was_ so very happy, and as a mother that was all she desired for her only son, but she had found cause to counsel him only a few nights before.

'You must keep your feet on the ground John,' he had looked up from the paper he was pretending to read. 'You and Miss Hale, you must not let your hearts rule your heads.' Margaret had been to dine with the Thornton's, and it being a late hour when the evening came to a close Mrs Thornton had offered her the carriage to take her home. Passing the hall window moments later, Mrs Thornton had unwittingly witnessed John and Margaret's loving, passionate goodnight kiss. John had one hand on Margaret's on the ledge of the window of the carriage, the other rested on her cheek and strayed onto her throat. Margaret was leaning out of the window slightly, eyes closed unashamedly returning John's kiss.

'Mother,' John had said, almost laughing. 'We are to be married!' Mrs Thornton looked at him pointedly. His tone levelled 'Margaret is a well-educated, fine young lady and . . .'

But his mother interrupted 'And you are a gentleman of good standing and fine reputation! But you are both head strong and passionate and under such circumstances education and reputation can come to nought.'

She smiled at him. 'You are marrying for love, and that is a great privilege, to love and have love returned. But you must keep your heads clear, your passions controlled,' she repeated herself.'Your feet on the ground. You are not married yet.'

John leaned over and kissed her cheek, 'Don't concern yourself Mother,' he straightened up and turned to leave. 'From now on Miss Hale and I shall endeavour to ensure we are always alone before allowing such behaviour.'

Now Mrs Thornton laughed to herself about it. She could still hear the smile in his voice as he had said it, and he had quickly left before she could chastise him again. She was sure nothing improper had happened between them, but tongues were quick to gossip, and Milton's gossips needed but little encouragement. If John and Margaret were to be seen behaving so wantonly by a servant, or worse by a mill worker,

'Good evening Mrs Thornton' Margaret's greeting broke in to Mrs Thornton's thoughts.

'Miss Hale' Mrs Thornton nodded at the young woman as settled herself on the seat opposite. John stepped in beside her, and the carriage moved off.

'Did the move go smoothly today, Miss Hale?' Mrs Thornton enquired.

'Yes, thank you Mrs Thornton.' Margaret replied. 'I feel truly returned to Milton now.'

'Interesting that you chose to take a house. Rather than stay at the hotel, surely a more comfortable option?' this rather pointed question disguised Mrs Thornton's growing admiration for Margaret. It would have been an extravagance to stay the whole month at the hotel, although Miss Hale could doubtless afford it, and Mrs Thornton had been worried that John would insist Margaret stay with them, something she was not ready for. John was to be lost to her in a few short weeks and she selfishly wanted him all to herself until then.

'I feel this to be just as comfortable, Mrs Thornton.' Margaret was saying. ' If not more so, I can have my own belongings to hand, feel more of a resident than a visitor and keep the privacy afforded by having a home.'

John remembered the stony face of Dixon and smiled to himself. Pity the unsuspecting visitor who tried to get past her!

'I understand you are to return to London tomorrow.' Mrs Thornton glanced at John.

'Yes, I intend to pack the few belongings remaining at my Aunt's house and have them bought here. ' Margaret continued. 'And I have meetings with Mr Bell's lawyers and banker, as I intend to set up intermediary in Milton so that I do not have to travel to London so often.'

Mrs Thornton was impressed by Margaret's practicality. 'You shall truly be a Milton resident then, when you return.' She smiled gently. 'But, do not burn all your London bridges yet.' Mrs Thornton continued, looking out of the carriage. 'Fanny is pushing Watson to take a house in London for the Season, and doubtless we shall all have to suffer her persistent invitations when she gets her way.'

Margaret smiled too, catching John's eye.

* * *

The Watson house was aglow with lights at every window, welcoming and yet imposing Margaret considered, looking up as she stepped down from the carriage.

'Mother!' Fanny bustled towards them as they were announced, moving through her guests with firm purpose. She embraced her mother and brother, reaching out to kiss Margaret's cheek in welcome.

'Come through to the drawing room, Miss Hale,' Fanny slipped her arm through Margaret's, gently nudging John away, looking up at him, 'You must let me borrow her for a while John,' then turning back to Margaret, 'I have so many people to introduce you to!' John could only laugh at his sister in her role as hostess and Margaret was too surprised to react. Fanny not needing nor waiting for a reply, led her away.

'I am so glad you have decided to return to Milton, Miss Hale.' Fanny said as they approached the humming sound of conversation. 'For John's sake obviously, but I must also claim some need of your presence.'

'You need me, Mrs Watson?' Margaret was a little taken aback by Fanny's welcome.

'Oh yes, Miss Hale.' Fanny's sincerity was deep. 'You have just spent months in London! I am so in need of the latest news and gossip from London! My Watson is considering taking a house for the next season, I am relying on your advice and counsel for locations and fashions!'

'Well, I, I am really not one for London society and its intricacies,' Margaret faltered. 'I fear I won't be much help.'

'Nonsense!' Fanny insisted. 'You can't have spent months in London and gone nowhere! Oh Miss Hale, you are too modest!' Then before Margaret could protest again, 'I must introduce you to my sister-in-law, Miss Hale.' She steered her towards a small group of people.

'Catherine, Edward, Mrs Watson,' Fanny began. 'May I present Miss Hale, Miss Hale this is Mrs Keenan, my sister-in-law, her husband,' Margaret returned their smiles and nods of welcome, ' and Mrs Watson, Watson's mother.' Margaret smiled and reached out her hand to the elegant seated lady.

'Forgive me if I do not stand, Miss Hale' Mrs Watson's voice was frail and quiet, but her eyes were alert, her frame slight but strong and the hand that took Margaret's was warm and firm. 'This sudden cold weather is not kind to old bones.' Margaret liked her immediately, admiring her strength and recognising in her twinkling eyes a similar humour. Catherine too soon showed herself to be, like her mother, a woman of strong intellect delightfully offset by a wickedly precise sense of humour. Her husband, Edward, was a softer, quieter man, very bookish but with a love of literature that reminded Margaret very much of her father.

* * *

'They make a handsome pair, Mrs Thornton,' Mrs Watson nodded towards John and Margaret who were at the opposite end of the room now, amongst the throng by the door. Dinner had been announced and Mrs Watson was standing with Mrs Thornton in the drawing room allowing the majority of the crowd to clear before beginning her slower progress along the corridor.

'Yes, they look well together,' Mrs Thornton watched as they disappeared from view, Margaret laughing at something John had said, John smiling back at her, his hand reaching across briefly touching hers on his arm, eyes only for each other.

'I must say,' Mrs Watson continued, 'I have found Miss Hale, in our brief acquaintance to be an absolutely charming girl, not given to such fancy and whimsy as some young girls are.'

'Yes,' Mrs Thornton's praise came carefully. 'She can be most sensible, and I do admire her resolve and determination. To lose both parents so tragically close together, and yet to stand so confident in the world,' Mrs Thornton smoothed her dress, then quietly added 'she makes John so happy as well. That is very plain to see.' Mrs Thornton and Mrs Watson had come to know each other well, since their children's marriage, and she valued the opinion of the older woman, but felt free to speak hers a little too. 'She could do with thinking things through a little more sometimes, I feel.'

'Mrs Thornton, do you not remember what it was to be young and in love?' Mrs Watson gently chastised her. 'If all your future daughter-in-law is guilty of is a slight lack of forethought sometimes, you should count your blessings.'

* * *

At the dinner table, to Margaret's delight, she found herself placed next to Mr Keenan and to his left was Mrs Watson. To her right was a Mr Locke, a young man barely into his twenties whom, it turned out was engaged to the young Miss Latimer. His puppyish enthusiasm and boyish charm were hugely endearing, words tripped over themselves to get out of him as he described his travels in France and Spain the year before.

'. . . then, Miss Hale I returned home to London. I always knew I wished to work in finance of some sort, to work with the means to fund peoples industry and business. That is why I came up here to Milton, I was offered a position with Mr Latimer.' Mr Locke paused to sip from this wine glass. 'There is so much opportunity here in the north, do you not agree, Miss Hale? Everything moves so much faster, so industrious!' Margaret could not help but laugh at his joy, such a contrast from her own first impressions of this town.

'Yes Mr Locke,' she smiled warmly at him. 'There is much to recommend Milton to us London migrants!' He smiled too, delighted at her agreement.

'How long have you been back in Milton Miss Hale?' Mr Locke asked. 'I understand you were in London?' She chatted lightly to him, enjoying his company.

But Margaret's thoughts were all of John. He had escorted her to her seat and then found his own, several places up from her on the same side of the table. Every now and then his voice was audible to her in the ebb and flow of conversation, and she caught glimpses of his hand reaching for his wineglass or his fingers resting briefly on the table.

She could still feel her skin tingling where that hand had brushed her shoulder.

She could still feel the exquisite light touch of those finger tips on her neck.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

'I must say Miss Hale,' Mrs Keenan said as they withdrew after dinner. 'I like your Mr Thornton more every time I meet him.' Margaret laughed, embarrassed slightly by the ownership bestowed upon her but charmed by Mrs Keenan's easy manner.

'Fanny is a dear girl,' Mrs Keenan continued as they sat down. 'But I could never have matched her with Thornton as a sibling, he has not the same lively character as her, but she cannot equal his mind, his intellect. Miss Hale, I cannot remember the last time I enjoyed a dinner conversation so much!'

Margaret smiled. To hear John so praised delighted her. 'My father used to enjoy his lessons and conversations with Mr Thornton,' she said. 'He would so look forward to their time together.

'I remember your father, I think,' Mrs Keenan laid her hand on Margaret's arm in comfort. 'At Fanny's wedding? I remember being introduced, he struck me as a very kind gentleman.'

'Thank you,' Margaret said softly.

Mrs Keenan gently squeezed Margaret's arm, then her tone lightened, 'And that was only a year ago! The changes Fanny has bought about in my brother since then! She is so determined, I have never known such drive once a target is sited!' Margaret laughed again, and then looked up as two women approached them. She vaguely recognised one of them as Mrs Hamper, wife of one of the mill owners. The smaller woman she did not recognise, but judging by the striking similarity in all but age and dress between the two, she guessed to be a daughter.

'Mrs Keenan,' the woman said. 'So lovely to see you again.'

'Mrs Hamper, Miss Hamper,' Mrs Keenan welcomed them as they sat. The older woman was of about Mrs Thornton's age, the younger must have been around Margaret's. 'May I introduce Miss Hale . . '

'Miss Hale, yes you were at the wedding? And at the Thornton's dinner party last year?' Margaret felt the friendly warmth of conversation that had been present only moments before begin to chill as Mrs Hamper's steely gaze swept over her.

'Yes, I . . '

'I thought I recognised you,' the voice was sharp, clipped. 'and now I hear you and Mr Thornton are to marry?'

'Yes, we . . '

'My congratulations,' the insincerity was stark. Margaret, realising her contributions were not needed acknowledged the remark with a nod.

'Of course, a year ago all talk was of Mr Thornton and Miss Latimer,' Mrs Hamper continued. 'It all came to nothing obviously, and now she is engaged to a financier in her father's firm. She is here tonight with him, have you been introduced?' She did not wait for Margaret's response. 'Yes it is a good match, a similar one I hope to make for Adele.' The young woman did not respond, continuing to look at Margaret, who, unsettled under her scrutiny attempted an encouraging smile. 'A spring wedding I heard, such a lovely time of year for it, not like these winter nuptials people have nowadays.'

'Come now, Mrs Hamper, I found Fanny's wedding to be a delightful occasion,' Mrs Keenan broke into Mrs Hamper's words, picking up the deliberate slight at both her brother, Watson, and Miss Hale.

'Hmm, maybe so,' Mrs Hamper's feathers were visibly ruffled. 'But such indecent haste nowadays to get married, and such expense! Have you seen the size of Miss Latimer's engagement ring? Scandalous extravagance.' Her eye fell on Margaret's left hand. 'I notice you do not wear a ring, Miss Hale. Most sensible.'

'Did you not wish to have one?' Miss Hamper spoke for the first time, the question was so unexpected, improper almost, that Margaret was momentarily lost for words. But Miss Hamper's tone implied girlish desire, not cruel comment. 'If I were engaged, I should so desire a ring to show the world.'

'Adele' her mother snapped and the glow in Miss Hamper's eyes died instantly and she visibly withdrew back in to herself.

'We are to be married in a month's time, Miss Hamper,' Margaret was looking at Adele, but her comment was directed at Mrs Hamper. 'Then I shall wear my wedding ring.' Adele's eyes lit up with longing and made as though to speak, but one glance from her mother silenced her.

'A month?' Mrs Hamper almost snorted with derision.

'Miss Hale,' Mrs Keenan could see the fight building in Margaret, the fire in Mrs Hamper. Miss Hale could not afford to make an enemy of Mrs Hamper, frightful gossip that she was. 'I recall your father was a great reader, and you have spoken of your own love of literature,' Margaret turned her blazing eyes away from Mrs Hamper. 'My own dear father had a great many books, many of which are here, in the library. I should like very much for you to see them.'

'Women should not waste their time with stories and fairy tales,' Mrs Hamper was settling in for a character assassination. How dare this young woman from London arrive in this town and steal one of the most eligible men? She had marked Mr Thornton for Adele many years ago, it was only right that he marry a sensible, local girl who shared his background. This Miss Hale, with her accent and her money, her books and her hasty marriage plans was possibly considered a catch in the South. What had she to offer Mr Thornton? Especially once the money was gone? Fashion and stories?

'Great literature can act as a mirror to our times, Mrs Hamper,' Margaret could not hold her opinions quiet when faced with such provocation. Then to Mrs Keenan, 'I would love to see the library, thank you.'

* * *

'Ohhhhhh!' Mrs Keenan let out a long breath as she and Margaret left the drawing room moments later. 'Miss Hale, I can only apologise for Mrs Hamper, she is a dreadful gossip and holds very old fashioned opinions.' Then she laughed. 'She is mostly harmless, but you did well not rising to her.'

'I confess I almost did,' Margaret's indignation had calmed just as quickly as it rose and now she felt a little ashamed of her purposeful teasing of Mrs Hamper.

Mrs Keenan lowered her voice, conspiratorially 'Even my Edward has been angered by her, he and Mrs Hamper fell out over our decision to hire a tutor for our daughter,' she appeared to smile at the memory. 'And you have seen how gentle and quiet my husband is!'

Margaret felt a little better, but resolved, once again, to try to temper her anger more.

'Here we are,' Mrs Keenan stopped and opened a large door. 'After you, Miss Hale.' Margaret stepped into the library. Two large windows to her right flooded the room with pale moonlight, there were a few candles already lit and Mrs Keenan busied herself lighting more. All four walls were covered in tall bookcases reaching from floor to ceiling, a large circular table in the middle of the room had three huge atlases open at the Americas, two sagging couches on either side, more books were stacked in untidily, but clearly loved, on the desk opposite the windows.

'Its beautiful', Margaret breathed as she looked around.

'It is isn't it?' Mrs Keenan looked a little wistful. 'I always feel closest to my darling papa when I am in this room, he was quite the bibliophile.' She caught Margaret's eye, suddenly checking herself. 'I'm sorry, is that terrible? I suppose one should rely upon God to bring us closer to our loved ones'

'No, no,' Margaret crossed the room and took Mrs Keenan's hand. 'I could not bare to be parted from father's books. My aunt despared of my ever finding room for them all!'

'Miss Hale, you are kind,' Mrs Keenan took a breath and looked away. 'Now,' she said. 'I know father had a beautiful edition of Shakespeare, it was quite his favourite of all.' She glanced to where it usually rested. 'My brother is fond of it too, I wonder if he has it in his study still?' She turned back to Margaret 'I shall go and look, make yourself at home, I shall be back directly.' And with a smile she was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Margaret revelled being alone in such a treasury. She strolled lovingly along the bookcases, her fingers lightly caressing the leather spines. The titles read as names of old friends, and she took down some familiar ones and leafed through them.

On the wall behind the door was a low free-standing ladder, sturdily built with deep steps and a wide platform at the top to allow access to the higher shelves. Curiosity got the better of Margaret's reserve at using such an item in a strange house and she climbed to the top, finding herself looking at volumes of the plays and poetry. She carefully removed a book of collected works from the shelf. Then, seating herself on the edge of the platform, her feet on the top step she turned the pages, waiting for Mrs Keenan to return.

Voices started sounding in the corridor, echoing against the walls, the men must be returning from the dining room, Margaret was about to stand up and make her way back to the drawing room, when the door opened.

'Here it is,' Margaret could not see the man who spoke, but recognised by his voice that he was Mr Watson. ' Whatever book you require should be in here, Locke.'

Mr Locke stepped through the door and turned back, 'Thank you Mr Watson, this is most generous, I shall only be a moment.'

'My dear boy, take as long as you need, borrow what you will.' With that Mr Watson was gone, closing the door behind him.

'Good evening,' Margaret said from her vantage point. Mr Locke whirled around

'Miss Hale!' He put his hand on his chest. 'Goodness but you scared me! No, don't get up,' Margaret had made as though to move. 'You may be able to assist me from that vantage point, if you wouldn't mind.'

'Which book are you searching for?'

'A particular volume of political history Mr Thornton recommended.' Mr Locke began to scan the shelves. 'He saw I had finished another, and thought I might appreciate the view from the other side.' Then looking up at Margaret again, 'What have you up there?'

'Plays and poetry' Margaret twisted her neck to read the titles, marvelling at the haphazard groupings, 'and books on industrial machinery.' She was about to enquire as to what title he was looking for, when Mr Locke stopped and removed a book from the shelf.

'Here!' He held it up, triumphantly, just as the door opened again.

'Mr Locke,' Margaret closed her eyes as John's gentle low voice flowed over her. 'Have you managed to locate it? Watson's system is deeply idiosyncratic.' Margaret watched as John crossed the room to Mr Locke.

'I have just this moment found it,' Mr Locke replied. 'Although I confess I was aided most admirably.' He looked up, over John's shoulder at Margaret. John frowned, turning in the direction of Locke's gaze and saw Margaret, laughing at Locke's absurd statement. His brow softened, and a half smile played on his lips as he looked up at her, tucked away just above the door.

'Miss Hale,' he bowed his head slightly towards her.

'Mr Thornton,' Margaret also aware of keeping formalities in company. But her eyes glowed softly as they met his. A silence stretched between them for a moment longer than was perhaps decent.

'Mr Locke is too kindly in his remark!' Margaret shifted her attention back to the young man, who was beginning to feel as though it were he, and not Mr Thornton, who had just arrived. 'I have hidden here too long, no help to anyone and becoming a most impolite guest!' Margaret reached up and took hold of the single rail to her left, against the bookcase, steadying herself as she stood up to leave.

But to stay, she so wished to stay. Here, in this beautiful room with the endless rows of books and dark wood panelling. This perfect room with its intoxicating mix of warm candlelight and fresh moonlight, and John. He had moved closer to her now, ready to offer a supportive hand for her descent, his nearness made her nervous, excited.

'I fear we are all guilty of that now, Miss Hale,' Margaret took a moment to recall her last remark. Mr Locke was now also closer to her, but standing by the door. 'Being impolite guests, I mean' he continued, talking quickly again as Margaret placed her book back on the shelf. In truth, Mr Locke was more anxious to return to Miss Latimer than fulfil his role as attentive guest. 'Myself especially,' he added, realising he had just possibly deeply offended Thornton and Miss Hale. 'I should thank Mr Watson for his allowing me to borrow from his library,' and find Miss Latimer he silently added. He appeared to nod as if in justification of what he had said.

'I shall see you in the drawing room, Miss Hale,' he inclined his head towards her. 'Mr Thornton,' another small bow, 'Thank you again for the recommendation.' John returned his gesture, and Locke left to find his dear Miss Latimer.

Alone. Margaret had been thinking of John all evening, and now they were alone. The silence enveloped them as a friend, taking them into its confidence. She began to step slowly down the ladder, wary of keeping her balance and so reaching to take John's hand.

John took her hand, feeling each of her finger tips come to rest on his palm as though it were a kiss. His eyes swept lovingly up her slim bare arm, flowing over the bend of her elbow to her shoulder, remembering that briefest of touches earlier in the evening. He followed the curve of her neck, tracing the shadows cast by her earrings on her beautiful throat, and finally came to rest meeting her eyes.

John felt he could look at her all night as he had been thinking of her all evening, but he wanted to hold her, kiss her. Gently, he laid Margaret's hand on his shoulder, moving up against the ladder as he did so. Then, quickly, strongly before he lost his nerve, John placed one arm around Margaret's back and other behind her thighs and lifted her off the steps, pulling her into him. The silk of her dress rustled and whispered as Margaret's body softened into him and she placed her other arm around his neck, clasping her fingers against his collar.

To have her so close to him. John turned his head, closing his eyes as he rested his head lightly on Margaret's. Absorbing her warmth, drawing her in to his heart, fighting the desire to push the door shut and turn the key in lock. He turned slightly then slowly put her feet on the floor, placing his hands on her beautiful face as she twisted her body towards him. His skin shivered as Margaret's fingers trickled from behind his neck and traced his jawline.

A moment of sweet anticipation. Then a kiss. Sweet and tender, like the first time, but stronger with an edge of passion that reached out and eased that dull aching need deep within Margaret. But it wasn't enough, she wanted more. She felt John's lips part gently, and she responded, deeper, longer, fiercer. Her body trembled and her heart pounded, but her head felt so light.

John's hand began to slide, so deliciously, down her neck leaving a trail of singing nerves and senses. On to her shoulders, exploring, flowing, coming to a teasing halt on her breastbone. He fought harder against the longing need to shut the world away, to take Margaret to one of the couches bathed in moonlit shadows, to begin to unfasten the row of buttons on her dress he could feel under his hand, to pull the pins from her hair and feel her body move underneath him. He kissed her lips again and again and then whispered along her cheek to her ear. Margaret's heart silently cried out, willing him to continue, existing only to feel his kiss. She closed her eyes again as his lips, warm against her neck, found the place where her pulse thundered and hummed.

Each kiss bought more pleasure than the one before, new sensations awakened new desires within Margaret, wanting still more, needing to be closer. She slipped her hand under his jacket and found the edge of his waistcoat, following it around to his back, stretching her hand over the buckle that held it taught to his body. Her head twisted towards his, searching for his mouth, kissing him. The desire running through her gave Margaret a confidence she didn't know she had and her lips parted on his, encouraging him, shivering with pleasure as John's hand began to move to the curve of her breast.

John's arm tightened around Margaret's waist, and he stepped forward, moving her backwards against the wood panelling between the bookcases behind her. The wall pressed against Margaret's back, and she used the support to pull John to her. He could feel Margaret's fingers pushing against his back, the pressure increasing as his hand flowed along the neckline of her dress, tracing the contours of her breasts. Her breath was coming in short gasps, her heart thudding against the constraints of her corset, forcing Margaret to pull away from John's kisses. She drew the outline of his lips, not wanting to be parted from them and he kissed her finger tips. Then bent and kissed her neck again, her shoulder, her collarbone. Margaret tilted her head back against the wall, turning her cheek towards the wood as John's lips pressed into her breast. His fingers played along the top of her dress, slipping under the silk. Margaret felt him kiss the heartbeat on her neck again, and he began to turn his body to her side, moving his arms ready to lift her again.

Somewhere, far away from both their senses, a door opened. Footsteps. A voice.

'. . . no she must still be in the library.'

Another lingering kiss on Margaret's neck, John's arms reaching across her back and slipping past her waist.

Footsteps, coming down the corridor.

Their silent world was fading.

'Yes, if you could find them, I shall fetch Miss Hale,' the voice again, female, much closer. At the sound of her name Margaret jolted away from John, suddenly woken.

'I must . . . ' she stumbled over the words that seemed to crash clumsily from her. ' We cannot . . . I . . .' Dizzy, disorientated. They must not be found here. They must not be discovered like this. Margaret could only think to leave, to preserve these secret moments, but could not explain as the words would not come. She sought reassurance in John's eyes, catching his fingers in hers as his hands fell away from her body. But John looked away from her, only able to briefly meet her searching gaze. He too felt suddenly awoken, but to a reality where he had given in to a deep desire. He was reeling away from the edge he had been so close to only moments before, and it scared him.

Margaret's fingers trailed out of John's hand and she went to the door, quickly glancing back to him. But John had turned away, racked with conflicting emotion.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

'Oh Miss Hale,' Mrs Keenan almost walked into Margaret as she slipped out of the library door. 'I'm so sorry to have left you for so long.' She slipped her arm through Margaret's. 'My mother felt slightly unwell, and I had to fetch her medicines. Its her age you understand.'

'Yes, yes of course.' Margaret's response was barely audible. She had left John's embrace so swiftly, anxious not to be discovered, that her senses were struggling to keep up with the changes. Heightened as they were, the sudden onslaught of conversation, heady scent of Mrs Keenan's perfume and rapidly growing hum of people and noise were almost overwhelming. She frantically tried to gather the fractures of her mind, pulling herself back.

'I did not get a chance to look for that Shakespeare,'Mrs Keenan steered Margaret through the hallway, where small groups stood in conversation, and into the drawing room. 'And now Fanny has asked Miss Latimer to play for us, so I fear it shall have to wait until our next meeting.'

Margaret allowed herself to be led to seat near the window. The slight chill on her skin was the first physical sensation she was consciously aware of since John's hand had left hers. Mrs Keenan settled beside her, but turned towards her husband who was seated to her other side. People moved and flowed around the room, placing themselves around the piano where Miss Latimer waited.

Grateful to be motionless, Margaret allowed her streaming emotions and feelings to flow over her as the room hushed and Miss Latimer began to play. Without John's soft touch and warm kisses, Margaret gradually felt the turmoil of senses beginning to fade, her heartbeat slowed and she retreated deep within herself. The pure passion and desire she had felt was replaced with a cold realisation of what she had done.

* * *

John had stood motionless as Margaret left him, turning too late only to see the hem of her dress disappearing. He curled his fingers into his palm, trying to capture the feeling of the soft pressure of her hand. But she was gone.

He had wanted her. He had taken her. He had seduced her.

But to have been able to love her so physically was an intoxicating feeling, and he had thrilled to the new sensations, loving having her in his arms, in his embrace. The strength of desire and need that had pulsated through him had been all encompassing. Even in the moment as they were discovered, his instinct had been to pull her to him to hide away from this intruder until silence had returned. This is what had scared him so much when Margaret had looked at him. Her eyes searching for something in him he couldn't find. What must she think of him?

The carelessly flippant remark John had made to his mother days before now seemed horribly naïve. A barrier had been crossed and he could not take it back. He must go to Margaret, the woman he adored and beg her forgiveness. Would she even want to see him after he had treated her so wrongly? Could she bear to be near him when he had been unable to control his lust for her? Cold fear gripped his heart again, had he offended her beyond any possible apology or reconciliation. What if she was lost to him again?

* * *

Miss Latimer completed her performance and smiled shyly at the applause, modestly declining calls for more. Someone else should play instead, she gently insisted.

'Miss Hale,' Mrs Keenan turned to her companion for the first time since they had sat down. 'Do you play . . ?' But the question faded as she beheld Margaret's down cast eyes, pale face and tightly clasped hands. 'Miss Hale! Are you quite well?'

Margaret looked up at Mrs Keenan and took a moment to react, as though becoming aware of her surroundings. 'Yes,' Margaret forced a smile. 'Thank you Mrs Keenan.' Then seeing this was not enough, added, 'Sorry, I am a little tired, I think.'

'Of course,' Mrs Keenan's kindly expression did a little to soothe Margaret's raging thoughts. 'Mrs Thornton told me that you moved house today, a most tiresome experience.' People were beginning to converse again, the noise levels rising.

'Ah, here is someone who may yet relieve your fatigue, Miss Hale.' Margaret looked up in the direction of Mrs Keenan's statement. Her heart thudded with cold anxiety. 'Mr Thornton,' Mrs Keenan stood to welcome him, Margaret doing the same. How long had he been in the room?

'Come and sit with Miss Hale awhile, Mr Thornton. Your company is sure to do her good.' She smiled, blissfully unaware of what she was doing. 'I must see to my dear mother.' She left them standing awkwardly, a consciously wide gap between them.

Margaret could not look at him, her shame at what had happened must be clearly written on her face, and she did not want him to see it. The hum of the party had risen once more to a roar and she was glad of the anonymity of conversation that this, and their position at the edge of the room, afforded to them.

'Mr Thornton,' she began. 'I would ask that you allow me to explain myself.' Fear rose once more in John, but he gestured towards the chaise, gently inviting Margaret to sit. He was relieved when she did so, and joined her but kept the physical distance between them. Margaret kept her eyes on her hands tightly clasped on her lap, aware he was with her not beside her. Was this what her thought of her now?

'I wish to apologise for my behaviour,' her voice low, but strong. 'I should not have stayed so long in the library, I should have returned here long before you,' she hurried over the word 'and Mr Locke. I used Mrs Keenan's trust as an excuse to stay, and that was wrong of me.' John was unsure of where Margaret was heading with her explanation, but was still convinced she would find fault with his behaviour, she had to. Such a betrayal of trust that he had committed could not go unremarked upon, and he waited, full of dread.

'But that is of no consequence and cannot be changed, Margaret continued, building her courage. 'not that anything can.' John's heart tensed against her words in horrible anticipation. 'I allowed myself to be overtaken by my emotions and the circumstance in which we found ourselves. I fear I may have led myself . . . you, to a,' she hesitated trying to communicate her remorse. But, and this was what she had been wrestling with since she had left John, Margaret had loved every moment, she had felt so free in his arms, so loved. She had wanted his kisses, she had wished to be alone with him, she had craved and shivered under his touch. She had led him to it, she had seduced him, and now she feared his disapproval and expected his moral outrage.

John could scarcely believe what he had just heard, could it be . . . 'Miss Hale, you have nothing to apologise for. It is my behaviour that was wrong.' The elegant apology he had composed in his head as he had watched Margaret during Miss Latimer's piano piece was crumbling into fevered explanation. 'I misused the situation, I took advantage of circumstances, I kept you alone rather than returning immediately here.' He turned towards her slightly. 'I shamelessly allowed my feelings to overrule decency, and I used the trust you had in me.'

Margaret's anxiety was fading 'I still trust you,' she said quietly. 'And . . . and I do not feel you took advantage of me.' She spoke slowly, carefully treading along a tiny thread of possibility. She placed her hand beside her, stretching out her fingers towards him. John spoke cautiously too, searching for that same thread.

'But I feared I must have caused you great offence.' He yearned to reach out and take her hand, but he had to be sure.

Margaret raised her eyes to his, shy, but determined. 'How can you have done so?' She said. 'How can offence have been caused when none was felt?' Hope flooded back into John's world and he gently laid his hand on hers. 'I feel no shame at what passed between us,' Margaret's cheeks flushed slightly, 'only shame at what you must think of me.'

'Margaret,' her name from his lips was the most sweetest of sounds. 'I cannot think more highly of you, you must know that.' John's words came straight from his heart. 'I care for nothing but your heart, your love.' He lifted her hand to his lips, risking prying eyes, and kissed it.

'You have them both,' Margaret laughed with happiness, with relief. 'You always have,' she laid her other hand on his, 'always will.' A threshold may have been crossed in that darkened library but, they now understood, they had crossed it together.

* * *

The carriage stood on the quiet Crampton street. Dixon, having heard it draw up, loitered in the entrance hall, waiting for the door to open. What was it that was keeping Miss Margaret? The lateness of the hour meant the night air was cold, and Miss Margaret with only her light shawl to warm her!

'Goodnight John,' Margaret spoke softly, aware their position on the steps could be seen from the carriage. John had taken her hand from his arm and now held it between his own..

'Goodnight,' John lent forward and kissed Margaret's cheek, relishing anew that he was able to be so intimate with her. 'I shall see you Wednesday? When you return?'

'Yes,' Margaret said, remaining close to him. Pulling the memory of his warmth into her, 'Although I hope all to be complete before then, and if so I shall return earlier.' For the benefit of the carriage she pretended there was a smut on his cheek, and reached up to remove it, stroking her fingers briefly along his jaw. He kissed her hand, then bent and kissed her cheek again. Lingering.

Mrs Thornton was waiting in the carriage, naturally not wishing to spy. But once again the behaviour of her son and Miss Hale caused her mild alarm. _Must _she stand so close to him? And she wasn't fooling anyone with her speck of dirt removal! Not that John was behaving any better, he appeared to be almost leaning on Miss Hale, and a kiss on the cheek _surely_ shouldn't last quite so long. Finally, he turned back to the carriage.

Mrs Thornton's disapproval was betrayed by her slightly stiffened posture and pursed lips. John picked up on it immediately, but nothing could pull him down from such happiness, not now.

'Do not worry mother,' John teased, stretching his long legs across the carriage floor towards her. He slouched boyishly in his seat, the rim of his hat slipping low over his eyes. 'Both pairs of feet remained firmly on the ground at all times.' And he smiled as he heard her tut and sigh.


	6. Chapter 6

Hello! A huge and grateful THANK YOU to everyone who has taken the time to read this little story of mine. I had initially planned to end it at Chapter Five, but my brain kept whirling and this is the first of three/four extra chapters.

A massive and deeply sincere THANK YOU to all who had been kind enough to review too! (Sorry about the typo in CHP 3 Novindalf! Have changed it!)

A small note about this chapter; I have used the word 'mantra' – and I find it slightly jarring, was going to write 'prayer' but was unsure how that might be read . . . let me know what you think. UPDATE 01/10/10 have added a few extra words so hopefully it reads better - thanks doc!

CHAPTER SIX

Margaret sat in her small drawing room, surrounded by neat piles of papers. In her hands were more sheets covered in the closely written hand of the Milton lawyer. Carefully she placed each sheet on top of its corresponding pile.

'There,' she said confidently as Dixon approached with Margaret's carpet bag. 'I think I have all I need.' She surveyed her work and then began to gather the stacks into one.

'I'm sure you do Miss,' Dixon placed the bag beside Margaret. 'Now, you are sure you do not want me to come with you?'

Margaret smiled up at Dixon's concerned face 'No, Dixon.' She reached and took her hand. 'Thank you, but I still think it best you stay here and be able to receive delivery of father's books when I send them back ahead of me. Besides, it is not as though I have not made this journey before, I see no need of a chaperone.' Dixon nodded, still unsettled by Miss Margaret's decision. 'And, you must not unpack a single volume before I get back, Dixon.' Margaret was continuing, placing the papers into the bag. 'I will not have you undertake such a huge task alone! Promise me?'

Dixon's response was silenced by a knock at the door. 'That must be the driver, Miss.' she said turning away. Already? Margaret glanced up at the clock on the mantle, there were a good ten minutes yet.

'Mr Thornton,' Dixon said as she opened the door to him. 'So nice to see you again,' she moved aside and let him in. 'so soon after your last visit.' John could not resist aggravating her.

'Dixon,' he said, handing her his hat. 'Surely you would not deny Miss Hale an escort to the station?' He deliberately played to her dislike of the town and himself 'In a place such as this a woman should not go unaccompanied.'

'This maybe true, Mr Thornton,' Dixon showed John into the drawing room where Margaret stood to meet him, delighted at seeing him so unexpectedly. 'But I would question the need for it to be you!' Dixon added silently to herself as she turned away. She strongly suspected him – and not the unseasonal chill as Miss Margaret had claimed - to be the reason for Miss Margaret's flushed cheeks and shining eyes the previous evening when she had finally come in off the front step.

'You should not goad her so much, John,' Margaret said softly, reaching to kiss him, her arms around his neck, revelling in new carefree intimacy. 'Dixon has known me all my life and she chose to come back to Milton with me instead of going to Hampshire, as I know she wanted to.' Margaret's hand went to her mouth, attempting to stifle her amusement at the exchange she had witnessed. 'She has given me time she did not need to and I know that this house would not be the same without her.'

John swiftly returned her kiss, his hands on her waist, and tried to look suitably chastised. 'I do not goad her!' he lied. 'I believe that myself and Dixon are creating a very special relationship, of mutual understanding.' This time Margaret could not help herself and laughed. John laughed too, one hand straying from her waist to the pocket of his jacket and the reason he had called. He was worried he might have missed her, that Margaret would have already left for the station. Now he almost wished that she had. Nerves gathered as butterflies in his chest and stomach as his fingers closed around the small velvety box in his pocket.

John had seen this ring in a jeweller's window over a week ago and had just _known_ it was perfect for Margaret, but it had needed to be cleaned and polished and sized and the promised few days had yawned in to a week. Eventually, it was ready and John had returned home the previous evening to a small parcel on the hall table. Finally. He had felt embarrassed Margaret wore no engagement ring, his fingers had caressed the place it should be on her hand countless times, silently promising. Yet she had never mentioned it's absence. Had she noticed last night, as keenly as himself, Miss Latimer's sparkling blue stone surrounded by diamonds?

'Margaret,' he began, removing the box from his pocket and looking down. 'This is . . . I meant for it to be sooner, but,' Margaret frowned slightly not understanding, and then her eyes fell on the little black square in John's fingers. '. . . but this arrived finally last night and,' he gently let go of her waist and opened the box. The ring that Margaret had, until this moment, no desire for and no need of glimmered bravely against the dark material of the box's interior. A single square diamond set proud of a woven fret-worked golden band. It was perfect.

'. . . and I,' John continued when Margaret did not speak. '. . you still wish to marry me?' he said. Her silence unnerved him slightly, and he realised suddenly he had not actually asked her properly yet. They had merely assumed of each other and talked of when and set the date, not talked of if.

'John,' his name gasped from her lips, 'I never even . . . its beautiful.' Then, recognising his question as one that required an answer. 'Yes, I wish to marry you.' She bit her lip through her smile and then laughed at herself, surprised at how much she suddenly wanted this ring because of what it stood for. It could have been the plainest band made from the cheapest metal and she would still have desired it with as much fervour. 'Yes,' she laughed again placing a succession of swift kisses along John's cheek and onto his mouth. 'Yes'.

* * *

They stood closely together on the platform, Margaret's left thumb constantly wandering across her hand to the strange new accessory on her finger. John caught her at it and she smiled, embarrassed, but looking down at it nonetheless. John's hand took hers, finally able to feel his ring on her finger. That half smile again.

'I am just sorry it took so long to arrive,' he said. Then as the train pulled in, 'but at least now Mrs Shaw and Mrs Lennox will not think that you are being kept here under improper circumstances'

'I did not think I was being 'kept' here under any circumstances,' Margaret's laughter destroyed any pretence of affront. 'Improper or otherwise!' The mock indignation made him laugh, and as the platform momentarily filled with heavy steam from the train he quickly bent to kiss her, she leaned in to him as they pulled every possible intimacy from the moment.

'Until Wednesday,' she said, saddened by the reality of their imminent separation.

'Until Wednesday,' he replied, holding open the carriage door for her as he had at another station only weeks before. The memory comforted her. But she still allowed herself to lean from the window as the train pulled out and scandalously send a kiss fluttering from her fingertips to the tall handsome man standing on the platform.

* * *

Margaret's optimism for a short London sojourn was to prove sadly misplaced. So, it was not she that arrived back in Milton on Wednesday, but a letter addressed to John in her curving italic copperplate;

_'. . . and so it seems that lawyers and financiers do not move with the speed and _

_efficiency they are often credited with. I feel I am helplessly at the mercy of their endless _

_fact checking and procedure but, I suppose, one must be patient if things are to align _

_correctly. When it is settled I shall be able to conduct all financial and legal affairs _

_through the Milton intermediaries, so this longer than expected stay in London will be_

_of benefit.'_

Margaret had paused to read back over what she had written. Poor John! He would have a letter filled with her frustration and tiredness that just seemed to flow out on to the page, but just telling him about it had made her feel better. As though she were talking to him. As though he were in the room with her.

_'How hollow and business-like I must sound! Days spent shuffling paperwork in dusty rooms has_

_absorbed me so! Of course spending time with my Aunt Shaw and dear cousin Edith and _

_Captain Lennox and little Sholto - who is not so little any more – has been a great_

_pleasure. They have been kindness itself, but I fear, as I have always suspected, London _

_and I are not suited to one another. I find her tedious and stifling, and I expect she finds me provincial and dull!'_

Margaret's thoughts had turned to Milton and John. Her handwriting, which had suffered slightly from the venom directed at men with banker's drafts and bundles of paper, now regained it's smooth flow;

_'It has been very warm and humid here these past few days. I confess, I find myself _

_looking for the refreshing breezes that are so prevalent in Milton at this time of year, but to _

_no avail. It is as though the city is stubbornly clinging on to the last remnants of _

_Summer heat before surrendering to Autumn. Upon my return to Milton I shall climb _

_to the hill at the top of the town and turn my face into that wind that comes from the north and promise never to take it for granted again!_

_So, as I mentioned, I am detained until Friday. I am fervently assured all shall be _

_complete by then and I will be free to come home and 'truly be a Milton resident' at last._

_I shall end this tired ramble of a letter here, and spare you more repetitive descriptions of _

_the tedious progression of matters. I so wish that I would be returning to you tomorrow, but a _

_few days more and then I will see you again, my dearest, most beloved you. _

_My heart sends you its most warmest and fondest regards, as, most sincerely, do I _

_Margaret'_

John had read Margaret's letter over breakfast, hiding his amusement at her quoting of his mother as the good woman was sat opposite him.

'It is from Margaret,' he had said to soothe Mrs Thornton's curiosity. 'She is kept in London until Friday.'

'It will be a wonder if all is done, even by then,' Mrs Thornton's pessimism had concealed her admiration. 'Miss Hale has done much to ensure her life is now here, and that is to be commended. But these things take time, and must be done properly.'

John had not responded, returning instead to Margaret's letter. Her fatigue and annoyance came off the page at him, but so did her love. In his reply, penned at his desk at the mill in defiance of the waiting paperwork, John had attempted to calm her grievances. He had sympathised with her intense irritation at financiers and lawyers, his own dealings with Mr. Latimer had furnished John with endless experience of their methods. He wrote of Fanny's intentions to travel to London the following week to look at houses, and recommended Margaret return home before then – he could not envisage her enjoying acting as guide to Fanny's insatiable quest for a fashionable address. He wrote, as Margaret had, of love and of missing her.

How he missed her. Her words wrapped themselves around him, living in his heart by day, seeping into his soul and dreams at night;

_' . . .I so wish that I would be returning to you tomorrow, but a _

_few days more and then I will see you again, my dearest, most beloved you. _

_My heart sends you its most warmest and fondest regards, as, most sincerely, do I. . .'_

It were as though they sustained him as a mantra, flowing over and over in his mind as the days passed. They repeated themselves to him now, days later, as he lay in bed. The late summer heat Margaret had written about in London was now afflicting Milton, welcomed after the recent cold, but making the night air heavy and close. John had not bothered to put on his nightshirt, removing the heavy blankets from his bed and falling naked between the cool cotton sheets. But still he could not sleep.

Margaret. He had been tormented by thoughts of her before. But this time it was so very different, John didn't have to imagine holding her and kissing her. He knew what her skin smelt like, what her lips tasted of, what it felt like to hold her close to him. He could see her now, standing by the door, smiling softly at him. Her hair coiled and plaited away from her face, her skin milky white against her dark dress. John turned on to his side towards heras she began to move across the room to him, the shadows and strips of light created by gaps in the heavy drapes of the windows flickering across her body. He sat up slowly as she came to the other side of the bed, the sheet slipping to his waist. She knelt on the edge of the mattress, pulling her dress up into a cloud around her knees, leaning towards him, searching for his kiss, reaching for his body.

He felt her fingers on his neck. He felt her kisses on his mouth. He felt her hands on his chest. He heard her dress rustle as he pulled her closer. He heard her breath catch in her throat, sighing, moaning.

John awoke in the fresh light of morning, turning to look for Margaret where he knew she wouldn't be.

At least not yet.


	7. Chapter 7

I'll confess, this isn't the best chapter - think I suffered the 7th Chapter Itch! Nothing seemed to sit correctly, but hopefully it'll pass as a transition to Chapter 8 - the wedding!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Friday.

Finally. All was done and Margaret was on her way back to Milton, and yet this train would not move fast enough! It importantly hissed and steamed and insisted on stopping at every station, waiting until the last post bag and portmanteau had been loaded before moving on.

Margaret was going home, to John, and she longed to see him. She watched as the suburbs of London slowly disappeared into fields and trees, seeking out the first signs of industry that signalled her journey was almost complete. The book she had bought with her to read lay abandoned on the seat beside her, her hand resting on it. Her left hand with its new adornment that she kept stealing glances at. The ring that John had given her connected her to him with a strength of purpose and presence she had not expected. He was always in her thoughts and heart, but the very feeling of his ring on her hand was a constant physical reminder of him, one she had indulged when walking home from those endless London meetings, or lying awake in the still, close air of her Harley Street bedroom. He had walked beside her; a phantom of her imagination, and had gently invaded her thoughts at night. Memories of his kisses and touches floated over her body creating dreams that caused her cheeks to flush and her heart to race.

* * *

Margaret had intended to walk home from the station to stretch her muscles, cramped from travelling. She would leave the trunk – necessary for the remnants of her belongings at Harley Street - at left luggage and collect it the next day. Or so she thought. Practical Dixon had sent a cab and driver to collect her and _all_ her luggage. Margaret knew better than to go against Dixon's rare interventions in to her life and reluctantly surrendered her plans.

It did make more sense, Margaret conceded, as the cab carried her through the familiar streets, to do it this way. But, and she wouldn't admit this even to herself, she had intended to walk home the long route, via Marlborough Mills. Not to necessarily go in. But maybe just to visit Mary in the kitchen.

'Mary!' Margaret's thoughts of the girl suddenly materialised before her as the cab overtook the slight figure carrying two large baskets. 'Wait,' she called to the driver. 'Stop for a moment please.' The cab shuddered to a halt and Margaret stepped down. 'Mary,' she called again. The girl turned, and recognising Margaret, broke in to a smile. 'Its so good to see you! You are well?'

'Miss Margaret!' she said, setting the baskets down as Margaret approached and embraced her. 'Yes, thank you. You're back then?'

'Yes,' Margaret revelled in the words. 'I am back home.' Then she gestured towards Mary's heavily laden baskets. 'Are these for the mill?'

'Yes,' Mary looked down at them. 'We're running a bit behind today, Annie is sick and the grocer wasn't able to deliver as normal.' she tucked her stray fringe behind her ears. 'It'll be all hands to peeling when I get back with these.'

'Let me, help,' Margaret immediately offered, talking quickly to quell Mary's protestations. 'I need only to drop this luggage at home, it is just a street away. Then I can come back with you, surely even that is quicker in the cab than you leaving here now on foot?'

'Yes,' Mary said slowly, 'but don't you . . .?'

'It is not a problem,' Margaret bent and picked up one of the heavy baskets. 'I insist, at the very least let me give you a lift to the mill?' She slipped her arm through Mary's and began to turn towards the waiting cab. Mary hesitated for a moment, then bent and collected the other basket, aware of just how far behind the kitchen was running today. Her concern for a mill full of hungry workers were no match for her natural reticence.

* * *

'Thank you for this Miss Margaret,' Mary said as the cab pulled away from the little Crampton house. 'I hope Miss Dixon understands.' Dixon had been less than thrilled that Miss Margaret did not want to come in and rest after her journey, failing to see the need for her to accompany Mary Higgins to the mill and highly suspicious of Miss Margaret's intentions.

'Do not worry about Dixon,' Margaret assured her. 'she will admonish me further when I get home later, but I will tempt her forgiveness with news from London and gossip from my Aunt!' Mary laughed.

The cab came to a halt outside the tall gates of Marlborough Mills which were opened flat against the wide entrance arch, allowing the bustle and noise of the yard to carry out on to the street. Margaret stood and handed the baskets out to Mary, then stepped down from the cab. Turning to pay the driver she realised her hands were trembling slightly, she could feel the thrill of anticipation at seeing John bubbling up inside her and she forced her breathing to calm. Her offer of help to Mary had come from a place of truly genuine concern, but now that they were here, at his mill, she could not help but think of John. She took a basket from Mary and together they stepped into the busy yard.

A cart stacked high with cotton bales moved across the cobbles out of her sight line, and suddenly she saw him. Her heart leapt. Standing on the edge of the yard by the warehouse with the overseer, John was consulting a ledger, comparing it with a note the other man held. Had it really only been a week since she last saw him? He had been always with her, constantly in her thoughts, but to finally see him, only a few feet away. She lovingly reacquainted herself with the exact flow of his jaw, his profile, his stance. Then forced herself to look away, aware that her desire may be visible in her glances, and welcomed the interruption that Nicolas' arrival made into her thoughts.

'Miss Margaret!' he had hailed her from a few feet away. 'You must have only just returned, and already Mary has you working!' his daughter smiled at the wink he slipped her. Margaret was so pleased to see him and returned his warm embrace of greeting.

'But of course,' Margaret hefted the basket in her hands.'I have nothing to occupy me but unpacking and that can wait.' Nicolas had taken Mary's basket from her and now reached for Margaret's 'Thank you,' she said. 'Although I know my cooking is definitely not as accomplished as Mary's, but I can peel and chop and stir and follow direction!'

The three of them moved towards the kitchen. 'Mary'll be glad of the help,' Nicolas said. 'Won't you lass?' Mary nodded gratefully. 'They have been short of people recently.' He turned and, his eyes twinkling with mischief, addressed a figure approaching from the warehouse 'What do you make of it Master? Miss Margaret here helping our Mary out?'

John, who had been made aware of Margaret's presence by Nicolas' shout, had crossed the yard and now stood beside her. Margaret looked up at him and his eyes lingered deeply on hers for a moment, before he turned to Mary.

'Permanently?' Mary's shyness overtook her and she did not reply, melting gratefully away in to the kitchen as her father replied for her.

'No, Master!' Nicolas was enjoying this. 'Just for today.'

'Or until Annie is recovered,' Margaret finally found her voice. She felt shy in this sudden meeting in such a public place. She was acutely aware of being surrounded by people and yet could not take her eyes away from John.

'Master!' the shout came from across the yard John turned to see who it was that called. His overseer was standing by the cart laden with bales, waving him over. Nicolas looked at the Master and then at Miss Margaret.

'I'll go, Master,' he volunteered, sympathetic now. 'See what he wants.' He smiled at Margaret, 'Thank you for helping Mary, Miss. Really, its very kind of you.' He handed the baskets over to Mary at the kitchen door. 'I'll see you later.' Margaret nodded, and he was gone.

'Hello,' said John.

'Hello,' softly.

They did not move closer, they did not even move but just stood in each other's shadow. Each of their senses attuned to the other's presence, each aware of how little distance was between them, treading a sweetly torturous line between decorum and longing.

It was John that broke the stillness, reaching to take Margaret's hand,

'Master!' the call came again, this time from the store, behind Margaret. John knew he needed to see the stores master before the delivery boy left. But he could not leave Margaret, not just yet.

'In a minute,' he called past Margaret, then stepping forward, 'Make sure he sees me before he goes.' He returned to those beautiful blue eyes that had so gently haunted his dreams in the past week.

'Master,' it was Nicolas this time. Standing a few yards away. 'He needs you to sign off the ledger on the delivery.' He jerked his head over his shoulder in the direction of the overseer still standing by the cart.

'You should go,' Margaret said, reluctant too to leave him, but recognising her arrival was causing delay. John looked down at her hand in his, running his finger gently over his ring.

'Will you come up?' he asked quietly, looking up towards his office window, then back at Margaret. 'Before you leave?'

'MASTER!', again from the store.

'Yes,' Margaret smiled. John gently squeezed her hand, then turned and quickly strode across the yard to his overseer, not trusting himself to look back.

* * *

Margaret crossed the mill yard, letting the last of the workers leave before she entered the large workroom, now deserted, and made her way to John's office. It had been a couple of hours since their meeting in the yard, but the time had flown past in the kitchen. She had enjoyed it, although initially shamed that even her peeling skills were not as quick as the other women. But they were warm and welcoming and grateful for what help she could give them. They had passed around mugs of hot, sweet tea, gossiping whilst they worked and gently probing Margaret with questions. They were all intrigued by this softly spoken, handsome young woman who had captured the Master's heart, and all remembered her kindness during the strike the year before.

All the while, Margaret's mind had kept wandering to the office above the mill and to the man who waited there for her.

The door to John's office was slightly ajar when she reached it. She took a breath and then tapped gently on the wooden frame before pushing the door open and stepping in to the room.

John had heard her light steps approaching and was already standing to meet her, walking around his desk trailing his fingertips along its worn surface. Margaret waited, savouring the moments as he came towards her.

John had removed his jacket and shape of his body beneath his waistcoat, tailored to fit close to his torso, was now tantalisingly discernible. He reached past Margaret, pushing the door shut, leaving his hand on the door frame next to her head. She turned her face slightly towards John's forearm, freed from the shirtsleeves which were now folded up to his elbow. She breathed in the faint scent of his skin and his nerves shimmered deliciously under her light breath. He bought his other hand up to her face, brushing away the tendrils of hair that curled against her forehead and cheek as she tilted into his palm.

Heartbeat by heartbeat they moved closer, each body remembering, unprompted, the exact curves and sculpture of the other. Lips hesitated momentarily on lips, whispering silent desire. Then in a sudden motion, jarring perfectly against the chaste restraint shown until then, John's mouth pressed onto Margaret's, kissing her with the same fierce passion they had shared in the library a week before. She melted under him, unhesitating in her response as each longing in her heart found its ease in John's kiss. It were as though each hour they had been apart demanded a kiss, each touch that had been desired needed reassurance that it would come.

Margaret's hands slid down from John's neck onto his shoulders and back. Their kisses gradually deepened in to long lingering caresses and he held her tightly in his arms as she rested her head against his shoulder. Margaret closed her eyes, her hand against the quick rhythm of his heart that echoed her own.

John lightly kissed her forehead and then cupped her face in his hands, brushing his lips against hers. He looked down into her beautiful face, tracing the perfect arch of her brow and the deep flush pink of her parted lips, how had he ever managed a week without her? In a few short minutes they would _have _to leave, his mother was bound to come looking for him and doubtless Margaret's lateness was already sending Dixon's opinion of him plummeting to new depths. But now, in these moments, in the privacy of this room he could hold her and trail his kisses down her neck and feel her fingertips on his skin and her hands across his back.

And kiss her.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

The reflection in the unfamiliar looking glass was that of Margaret Thornton, recognisable in feature but not in name to the woman who beheld it. It _was_ her; her face, her eyes, her hair, her lips and it was her heart that was beating quickly within her chest. Margaret Thornton. She silently applied the name again to her new acquaintance in the mirror and felt her heart fluttering in recognition. She smiled softly, turning away from the glass, her hands reaching for the pins in her hair.

Margaret looked around the small dressing room John had escorted her to moments before. Her trunk was open in the corner and the soft colours of her trousseau and recently discarded shoes and stockings, seeming to be at odds with the dark , masculine features of this room that had been John's domain for all these years. She removed the last few combs and pins from her hair and placed them on the dresser, then pulled her dark curls over her shoulder and began to unfasten the long column of tiny buttons at the side of her dress. She flexed her fingers to try to stop them trembling. It was not fear that made them shake, she knew that, but nerves? Anticipation? Trepidation?

John had turned to watch her come towards him in the church that morning, tall in his dark suit with eyes that captured her in their steel blue gaze. He had smiled softly as she stood by his side, and then turned to face her and repeated the marriage vows in his low voice. Promising to love her, to honour her for all their lives. Softly, meeting his eyes she had promised the same and now her left hand bore a new shining band of gold that nestled against the ring John had given her only weeks before.

And now, and now . . . her heart pounded as her eyes fell on the beautiful lace nightdress that lay draped over the trunk. Suddenly the thoughtless rhythm of her hands on the buttons faltered. She twisted her neck, looking down at the small fabric covered bundles. Some thread had worked loose from one of them, combining with a frayed edge from its covering preventing its release. Margaret remembered Dixon having to fix a button on the dress that morning just before they had left for the church – this must have been it. She tugged gently, nothing. Pulled harder, but the threads tightened. It was almost as though Dixon had stitched the covering to button AND dress such had been her haste. Margaret's eyes fell on John's shaving kit, laid out on the tall dresser, there were some small scissors in amongst it, and she picked these up. But, twist as she might, she could not get a good enough view and the threads she did cut did nothing to ease the situation. As a desperately futile solution, she lifted the skirts of her dress and unfastened her heavy petticoat, hoping that it would give her extra room inside the dress. She steadied herself with a hand on the wall and stepped out of the billowing layers. But, as she had anticipated, the little extra space afforded by the absence of the petticoat's numerous layers and thick waistband did nothing to ease her situation.

What to do? She was reluctant to rip the dress merely to save her pride. She ran through pointless options; maybe one of the maids was still awake downstairs? Maybe Mrs Thornton? But, Margaret remembered, Mrs Thornton had left to spend a few days with Fanny. Margaret took a deep breath, she knew to whom she must go.

* * *

John stood barefoot in front of the fireplace, his back to the dying embers in its grate. He had removed his jacket and cravat and now, hands in his pockets, he surveyed the room. He was unused to seeing it so alight. This had been his bedroom for so long now that he knew it's every shadow and dimension and would regularly navigate it in the dark, but tonight. Tonight was different. This was to be Margaret's first night here, with him, and he was anxious that she feel comfortable. He suddenly smiled to himself, how could he possibly hope to put Margaret at ease when his own fluttering nerves were so apparent in his fidgeting hands and dry mouth?

All those snatched kisses and stolen moments together had been but fleeting, always limited, always interrupted, never enough. But now, now there would be no interruptions. There would be no panicked departures, and suddenly the confidence he had found in the intimacy of their kisses and touches diminished as it was held up to the searching expectation of a wedding night.

John's restless hands absorbed themselves in unbuttoning his waistcoat, interlacing and overlying in a comforting routine. He had laughed at Margaret's constant playing with her engagement ring when he had given it to her, but now he found himself reaching for his own new gold band, twisting it gently around his finger. It's presence gave him calm and some restoration of confidence; his wife may be new, but the woman who owned the title was one he had loved from the first moments he saw her.

The door to his dressing room opened, and he looked up. The sight of Margaret crossing the room towards him immediately quelled the last fears of expectation, she was so beautiful she took his breath. Her long hair, finally freed from its neat coils and plaits hung in heavy curls over her shoulder. Her perfect face shone in the soft light from the candles.

'I need your assistance' Margaret's voice softly broke into his thoughts.

She was nervous now, worried at appearing foolish for not wanting to ruin her dress. Embarrassed that she was having to conduct this strange unplanned interruption, and John, so handsome in his white shirt, unbuttoned waistcoat, and dark trousers, unnerved her more. Memories of kisses and caresses they had shared in snatched private moments filled her mind; his mouth on her lips, his kisses on her neck, his hands round her waist, his fingers on her shoulders and throat. She dropped her eyes for a moment to compose herself.

'My dress,' she began, meeting his gaze once again. 'The buttons, one of the buttons is caught on itself.' She searched desperately for more a more eloquent description, but words trailed away before her. She tried again. 'Could you cut the threads?' and turned so that John could see the buttons. She held out the small scissors to him.

John took the familiar scissors from Margaret's outstretched hand and bent down beside her. His fingers fumbled with the strange fastenings, and he steeled himself as he slipped his hand inside the half open dress so that he only cut the silk dress, not what lay underneath. He felt the stiff material of Margaret's corset on the back of his hand, trying to concentrate on the threads and not the building realisation of just how close he was to her body.

'There', he said as the fabric covering the button fell away. He stood up, placing the scissors on the table as Margaret twisted her head round to see the fastenings, exploring with her fingers. The short sleeve, already low on her arm, slipped further pulling the neckline of the dress with it. Her shoulders turned slightly towards him, and his eyes swept over her long neck and throat, remembering her skin under his lips, and then down her chest to the edge of her corset which was now visible. He had picked up on her anxiety and therefore did not wish to rush her, but, but should he give in to want and embrace her now? Pull her to him and kiss her and touch her and love her and . . .

'Thank you' again she broke his thoughts. She looked up at him, as though unsure of what to do. To leave and return in the delicately stitched lace nightdress? Or to stay?

They both stood motionless, both hearts pounding, both aware of only this moment. Finally together, finally alone. It was then, looking into John's eyes that Margaret realised he was just as nervous and as anxious as herself, just as full of trepidation. But also needed her and wanted her, desired her as much as she did him. Such an exact and beautiful mirroring of her own feelings soothed her fading embarrassment and worries. Looking up at him, she took a breath.

John watched as Margaret's hands flowed to her side and and began to unfasten her dress. Her fingers resuming the rhythm, button by button, looking up at John as she did so, her large eyes steadfast, but a little timid.

John was momentarily transfixed. He watched as his exquisite Margaret stood so shyly yet so resolutely in front of him. The dress became looser as Margaret's hands went further down her waist stopping at her hips. Her fingers went up to her shoulders and slipped the sleeves down her arms, John's eyes following every movement, making Margaret feel as though her skin was being softly caressed by unseen hands. She pushed the dress down, over her hips and it pooled around her feet. She stepped out of it and met John's eyes again.

And stopped.

Margaret's shyness suddenly took over again and her fingers refused to move. John, his heart thumping, stepped forward and took Margaret in his arms. Raising her chin gently with his fingers he placed a soft kiss on her mouth, he felt her relax against him, finding her safety in the familiarity of his caress. John's lips touched her forehead, her cheeks, he pulled her nearer, loving having her body so close to his. She closed her eyes, confident once more in their shared passion, his hands cradled her face and she melted into his kiss.

John shrugged out of his waistcoat, and gently pulled away from Margaret. He reached for the hem of his shirt, and began to pull the fabric over his chest and up over his head and arms. Margaret watched as the lines of John's body she had drawn and redrawn in her imagination were made real; his stomach and chest, his long arms, his broad shoulders and long neck, all sculpted and shaped with gently curving muscle.

John twisted out of the shirt and let it drop to the floor. Running her eyes longingly over his body then stepping forward, Margaret laid both hands lightly on his chest and traced his contours with her fingers. Her touch trailed lines of pleasure over John's bare chest. His skin shivered under her fingers and then a gentle kiss on his throat sent a tingling tremor through him. He pulled her to him as her hands stroked up and down his back, his lips sought hers and then began a path of kisses from her sweet mouth to her chin, down her neck to the small hollow at the base and then along her collar bone.

Margaret trembled under his warm kisses, a sigh escaping from her throat as she tilted her head allowing John's mouth to trail lower, she felt each kiss as it fell, anticipated the next as it came closer slowly closer to the curves of her breasts still tightly enclosed. John's hands were straying to her back and the laces of her corset, exploring the bow tucked into the small of her back. His mouth returned to hers and she felt his fingers pulling at the tight fastenings, then his hands were on her waist and gently he turned her so that she had her back to him.

John carefully pushed Margaret's long hair over her shoulder, off her back, placing both hands on her shoulders, running them down to her waist. Now he made quick work of the tight knot and Margaret felt the sweet relief as the corset loosened slightly, and then John's hands pulling at the laces, as impatient as she to remove it. She pushed the hooked fastenings on her stomach together and they came apart, the corset fell into John's hands and she heard it hit the floor.

John pulled her into him, pressing her back into his chest thrilling to the sensation of her soft chemise against his skin. His hands explored her waist and hips as her fingers reached for his neck, twisting her head to lay a trail of kisses. Margaret felt John's hands coming further up her body, in a long sweeping motion, his fingers found her breasts and her nipples responded quickly to his touch through the thin cotton. She leaned back into him quietly moaning with pleasure, her neck arching her head onto his shoulder, helpless for a moment under his perfect, intimate touch. She must kiss him again, the need pulsated through her and she turned to face him again, pressing her mouth on his.

John responded with a need as fiercely passionate as her own, his hands gathering the length of her chemise to her waist. Briefly they stepped apart and John pulled the garment over her head. Immediately she clung to him again, feeling his heart pounding in his chest as her own thumped against her ribs. His hands touched her bare back, stroking up from the waistband of her drawers to the curve of her shoulder, loving the flow of natural contours of her body now freed from the false constraints. He could feel her hands on his own back, once more trailing waves of pleasure on his skin and he sighed in to her kiss.

John's desire drew all the breath from Margaret and she momentarily pulled away, her forehead resting against his, lips still so deliciously close. She looked into his eyes, as dark with passion and need as she knew her own must be. Her hands trailed along the waistband of his trousers, coming to a stop at the fastening, her fingers resting against John's fluttering stomach. She looked down as her hands fumbled clumsily with the buttons cautious as her fingers slipped inside the the thick fabric to ease each buttons release, feeling John move beneath them. John tilted his head back, closing his eyes as he felt Margaret's hands against his stomach and the thin cotton of his drawers. The last button was undone and John was aware of Margaret's lips once more on his chest and neck, lifting his head he met her gaze again.

His beautiful Margaret. He _did_ wish to possess her after all, but wished to be possessed by her with just as much fervour. Wanted her to know that he loved her, how he loved her, how she had invaded his thoughts and his heart. He ran his hand gently down her body once more, she kept her eyes on his, unashamed, trusting. Her hands had returned to the waistband of his trousers, now resting low on his hips, but had done no more. Waiting.

Keeping his eyes on hers, John reached for her hands taking them in his own. Slowly he began to move towards the bed, senses pulsating and shimmering. He sat on the edge, removing his trousers as he did so. Then he reached for her hands once again, looking up into her face.

Margaret stood in front of John, her now slightly trembling hands held in his warm fingers. She had never loved him more than she did at this moment, her trust in him was total. She knew only a very little of what was to come, and yet as looked down at him she knew he would never hurt her, that the fire she saw in his eyes was love of the purest kind, that the warmth growing within her was for him.

John moved back slightly, pulling gently on Margaret's hands so that she came closer, then onto his lap, her knees either side of his hips. His mouth found her neck, and she moaned softly with pleasure as his lips wandered lower, brushing the curves of her breasts. She arched her back as John's kisses reached her nipples once again lost in his caress. She felt his hands at her waist, then on the ribbon that fastened her drawers. With careful slow movements John loosened the ribbon slipping his hands under the thin cotton and around to her back.

Margaret's hands flowed up and down John's back, caressing his neck and rumpling his thick hair. She sought out his mouth with hers, needing his kisses as reassurance, a familiar touch and passion upon which to build these new sensations. John leaned further back, gently pushing her hips so that she slipped off his lap and sat on the bed, his right arm curved under her back supporting her as she lay back on the pillows. Her drawers sat loosely on her hips and she arched her back to release John's arm, reaching out for him, wanting him to continue. But also wanting him to stay just as he was; so close to her, his stomach on hers, his mouth kissing her, his hands so gentle on her body.

John shifted slightly above Margaret, his hips lifting off hers. She slowly moved one hand down to his waist, wanting, not wanting. Once again, the reassurance she needed came from his kisses, her body softened underneath him and she curved her limbs around him. He felt Margaret move beneath him, her body warm and so beautiful as it began to respond completely to his touch. His lips trailed down her neck and on to her chest, taking her nipple in his mouth again, feeling her rise beneath him. She gasped as he kissed between her breasts and then down her front to her navel and onto her stomach. Her breath quickened as his fingers slowly moved her drawers further down her hips kissing each new area of skin as it was exposed, but then she stiffened slightly as his kisses trailed lower. Wanting, not wanting.

John stopped, but then gently resumed his path of kisses back up her stomach and chest, feeling her relax once more. He grazed his lips up her throat to her parted lips. Her kiss reassured him this time and she smiled up at him, lifting her body towards him as he pushed her drawers down over her hips and thighs. She pulled at the fastenings at his waist and felt them loosen.

Naked body touched naked body and Margaret was aware of only John. All she knew was him. The nerves in her skin fought to be under his touch as his hands explored her, her body ached for his kisses and each one caused her to shiver so deliciously. Sensation grew upon sensation slowly building inside her.

Margaret felt John move between her thighs and she bent her knees bringing her legs up either side of his. His hand stroked her throat and then tilted her chin, her eyes now level with his as he gently pushed against her and she felt her body softly give way.

Then a sudden jolt involuntarily ran through her, a gasp escaped her throat and she twisted her face away from him. Sharp, stinging pain, as strong and deep as the pleasure she had been feeling, overtook her. Then, it was gone as quickly as it had come.

John stopped, motionless above her.

'Margaret' his voice was low, his brow furrowed with worry. He was angry at himself for hurting her, mortified that she had given herself to him so completely and he had caused her pain, and that he had _known _this would happen. All those years of listening to drunken bawdy after-dinner talk had provided him with what, at the time, he had dismissed as untruths; '. . .women don't enjoy being with a man . . . women feel pain . . . women endure . . .'

But it was horribly true.

'No,' she whispered seeing the concern on his face her hand reaching for his cheek. 'No, I am fine.' Her gentle smile and her trusting eyes pierced his heart.

'I don't want to hurt you, I will not . . ' but her fingers covered his mouth catching his words. Her breathing had slowed from the panicked rush of moments before and the warmth between her legs remained, tempting, welcoming. But he would not, could not continue if Margaret would have to endure.

Margaret reached up and placed a soft, fluttering kiss on John's mouth. The pain had been so sudden, so unexpected that she feared her reaction may have been as much surprise and shock as pain. She could still feel John between her thighs and a calmness descended on her body, relaxed. Wanting, waiting. She kissed him again, how could she tell him? How could she reassure him? He responded as she coaxed his mouth to hers.

'Margaret' he whispered, his brow had softened, but still he was uncertain.

Margaret summoned courage to speak her heart 'John,' her voice was barely a whisper. 'I am yours,' her words shivered through him. 'I want to be _yours.' _Another delicious kiss from her broke down his resolve. But, he still looked deep in to her eyes as he moved again on top of her.

A fleetingly sharp sensation, but Margaret bit her lip and suddenly John was within her. He pushed gently inside her, moaning quietly as he did so, still aware of Margaret's pain. But Margaret was far beyond any pain, her body was flowing with pleasure, responding totally and completely to John. Loving him. Loving being loved by him. A deep sigh of happiness rippled through her, and she responded with sweet relief to John's kisses. He looked down at her, so deeply in love with her, his body alive with new sensations. John's movements became quicker, deeper, and he lost himself within her, knowing only her.

Margaret felt a small knot building low, low down in her, near John. Warmth then heat grew within her, expanding, bubbling. Then suddenly a release. Strong waves of shuddering pleasure rippled out from deep within her and she tightened around John, closing her eyes and letting out a stuttering, whimpering gasp as she did so. John pushed, sighing, moaning, once more inside her. His head dropped to her shoulder and she felt him shudder, so blissfully, within her.

Margaret slowly opened her eyes and turned her head towards John. She could feel his warm, quick breath on her shoulder. His body pressed heavily on hers, still within her. Her fingers fluttered on the back of his neck and he turned his face to hers. A kiss, so soft, against her parted lips.

John reached for her smiling mouth with another gentle kiss. Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his body away from her, feeling her moan into his kiss. He lay close beside her, his hand on the beautiful face that turned towards him.

END

Really is the end this time! Thanks so much for all who have read reviewed!


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